


The Terminator

by h0ldthiscat



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Requests, prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-22 12:02:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6078618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/h0ldthiscat/pseuds/h0ldthiscat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he returns from the grocery store, dinner has been cleared from the table and there is a rose-colored envelope where his dinner plate used to be. It’s not addressed but he knows it’s for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Terminator

**Author's Note:**

> Sort of a prequel and then sort of a sequel to "Sweet Cream."

2009

When he returns from the grocery store, dinner has been cleared from the table and there is a rose-colored envelope where his dinner plate used to be. It’s not addressed but he knows it’s for him. Scully is nowhere to be seen but he hears her padding around upstairs. He sets down the flimsy white shopping bag, picks up the envelope, and slips his thumb under the opening in the back. 

Inside is a small card, some Thomas Kincaid nonsense painted on the front, the lazy trees embossed with glitter that rubs off on his pointer finger. Mulder opens the card and something flutters to the ground, a piece of tissue paper maybe. He leaves it for the moment and reads the card, written in Scully’s looping cursive and dated today’s date, March 12. 

_I had to work on 2/14 so this is my belated gift. Dinner was delicious and now it’s time for dessert. Bring the receipt, it’s your ticket. X_

His head swims with the possibilities of what she could possibly be doing upstairs, so much so that he gets lightheaded when he leans down to pick up the slip of paper that fell. It’s clear now that it’s a receipt, a receipt from that lingerie place off the Parkway. One item is listed, something called “The Terminator.” Scully has crossed through the price with a black marker, which makes him laugh out loud. 

Leaving the card and taking the receipt, he slowly makes his way up the stairs and knocks on the bedroom door, creaking it ajar just a tiny bit more. She stands in front of her wardrobe, doubled over and pulling a thigh-high stocking up her leg, attaching it to a dangling garter strap. His eyes travel over the silken panties at the juncture of her legs, up to the lacy black bodice that clings tightly to the curves of her hips, the slim indent of her waist, the round fullness of her breasts. 

She rarely wears all black--he’s heard her say more than once that she thinks it makes her look too pale--but this is a special occasion. This, he decides, must be The Terminator. 

“You know,” he drawls, entering the room, “when Arnold Schwarzenegger said ‘I’ll be back,’ this isn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

Scully jumps, the second stocking in her hand falling to the floor. “That didn’t take as long as I thought.”

“Short checkout lines.”

She holds out her arms lamely. “Well, happy 2/14.” They’ve never called it Valentine’s Day.

He leans down to kiss her chastely. “You can finish getting ready if you want,” he says against her lips. 

She melts against his body, wrapping her arms around his neck. “No thank you.”

He kisses her deeply now and she rolls her hips against him, backing them up across the hardwood floor to the bed. He lands on the throw at the end, an itchy horsehair blanket they’d bought as a poor substitute for the one he’d had when he lived in Alexandria. Its coarse texture is the furthest thought from his mind now that Scully is all skin and silk, straddling his lap.

Mulder yanks on the garter strap attached to nothing and she squeals, an uncommon occurrence and a delight. 

“You know you don’t have to dress up for me, right?”

“I know,” she says, nimble fingers undoing the buttons on his plaid shirt. Her lips are on his throat, her breath hot. “I wanted to.”

XX

2016

She stands barefoot at the foot of his bed and tries not to grin as he slides her white buttons through their holes. The light blue fabric rustles as he slips it down her shoulders, leaving nothing but lace between her and the quickly-warming air of the room. 

“You’re beautiful,” he says, falling to his knees in front of her and reaching behind to unzip her skirt. 

“Stop.” She blushes furiously and this time allows herself a smile. 

He pauses, hands on the backs of her thighs as her skirt pools at her feet. “Take a compliment, Scully.”

She smirks. Her therapist has said the same thing, but not in so few words. Back in the day, this was her therapy, Mulder’s reverent worship of her body. How many worries had he washed away buried deep inside her? How many times had he made her come so hard she forgot whatever they’d argued about that morning at the office? How many times would she let him tonight?

She feels a little foolish now, standing before him. What was her goal when she’d put this on this morning? Had her body been telling her mind that she was tired of sleeping alone? 

“What are you thinking?” he asks, his lips traveling up the front of her thigh. His nose nudges her garter straps, holding up a pair of nylons much more modest than the ones she wore all those years ago. 

“I don’t know why I wore this today,” she says, her own voice sounding as if it’s at the end of a tunnel.

“I’m certainly not concerned with the why.” He chuckles and she feels the vibrations at her core. She pushes her pelvis forward and he grabs her ass to steady her. “You do know,” he says, his mouth against her panties now, “that you don’t have to dress up for me, right?”

She takes a handful of his hair and pulls his head back so he can look her in the eyes. “Don’t be so presumptuous,” she chides.

“I just don’t want you to think--that if you want to--you don’t have to wear--”

“Mulder,” she hushes, bringing his head back to rest against her body. “I know.”

In one swift movement, he rises to his feet and lifts her with him, making her whoop in fear and joy. 

“You didn’t think I could do that anymore, did you?” he asks, looking up at her and beaming. 

“Don’t be so presumptuous,” she repeats, and he deposits her softly on the bed. 

Mulder hovers over her, his eyes filled with an expression that years ago had intrigued her, then terrified her, then excited her, then made her sad. Now she realizes that she doesn’t know what he makes her feel anymore. She wants to find out.


End file.
